


Doubt

by satin_doll



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluffishness, F/M, Molly has a little problem, Tiniest bit of almost-angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satin_doll/pseuds/satin_doll
Summary: It's Christmas Eve...again.





	Doubt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crazy Cat Lady](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Crazy+Cat+Lady).



> For Crazy Cat Lady, as always, just for being there.
> 
> This is not at all what I sat down to write, but it's what came out. My Christmas gift to the Sherlolly ship.

Christmas. Again.

Molly stands before the mirror in Sherlock’s - no, _their_ bedroom - putting on a bit of lipstick. 

There haven’t been that many good ones over the last seven years. Too much drama, too much doubt, just...too much everything. 

But things are different now. _He’s_ different now - mostly; there are still moments where he lapses, but in general attitude he’s different. The changes seem to have stuck where it counts; he’s not as quick with snarky remarks or impromptu deductions, not as apt to see everything anyone says as criticism, not so ready to manipulate instead of asking straight out. And life - well, life’s pretty much like it always is - but it’s easier to bear and more fun and...and...it’s just better. _Most_ _of_ _the_ _time_ _anyway_. She shakes her head, trying to chase away that little niggling voice.

_No more wallowing in sad memories of Christmases past._

Molly lifts the delicate, glittering gift from its box and holds it against her throat and sighs. Wearing such a work of art is a bit daunting. She’s never had anything so beautiful. It was a surprise from Sherlock, an intimate, personal thing, completely unexpected after they had exchanged their other presents. 

He enters the room quietly, without his usual flourish and drama, softly shuts the door. He moves to stand behind her, his gaze sweeping her reflection in the mirror from head to toe.

“Exquisite,” he murmurs, as he takes the emerald necklace from her hand and places it around her throat. She isn’t sure if he means the necklace or her. 

She can feel his breath on the back of her neck as he does the clasp. A tiny shiver of pleasure runs through her, pebbles her skin as she watches in the mirror. 

“I had a devil of a time finding one that would do you justice.” 

Molly blinks, still not used to a Sherlock so free with affection and compliments, another unexpected change. It’s been months, though, and almost every time she still has to stop and check to make sure he means it. She raises her eyes to meet his in the mirror and what she sees there seems sincere, genuine. Yes, he means it. Yes, he’s serious. 

_Yes_ , _he_ _loves_ _me - at least, for right now_. She turns slowly, places her hands against his chest and raises on tiptoe to kiss him. 

“Thank you. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

She turns back to the mirror, raises her hand and gently touches the emerald and diamond pendant with one finger. The emerald perfectly matches the dark green velvet dress she’s wearing, the pendant resting just above the deep vee of the neckline. The small diamonds surrounding the emerald catch the light and it looks like a shimmering green teardrop on her skin. 

Sherlock bends his head and places a kiss on her shoulder, slips his arm around her waist and pulls her back against him. He holds her there a minute, gently rocking from side to side, eyes shining as he watches their reflection.

“John and Rosie are here. I think Greg just pulled up outside.” 

“I’ll just be a minute.” 

He releases her, and goes to the door, turning back to give her a little smile before he leaves.

Molly takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. For tonight, she will take everything at its face value. Tonight, she will not let doubts ruin her enjoyment or color her interactions with him. For tonight, they will be a couple, two people in love - even though one of them has very little experience in that regard. 

Right, then. _Time to go and be with the family._

The thought brings a smile, and a small shake of her head. _My strange little family…_

*****

The party is a noisy affair, full of laughter and jokes. The flat is bright with twinkling lights and candles, greenery draped on the mantel and above the doorways and windows. Sherlock has even allowed a small tree in front of one window, covered with Molly’s old ornaments (and a few new ones), glowing with lights and strung with foil garlands. Though he had refused to participate in decorating it, he had watched closely as Molly and Mrs. Hudson carefully placed each ornament - whether old and worn or new and shiny - and finally had consented to helping place a tacky, glitter-covered star at the top. 

Rosie is in her element, being passed from person to person, giggling and mouthing baby nonsense complete with Christmas biscuit spews, which, of course, nobody minds. John is smiling and funny in his gaudy Christmas jumper - a gift from Mrs. Hudson. Greg is beaming at all and sundry, drink in hand, dancing around the room when it’s his turn with Rosie. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes are there (and more than once Molly catches them eyeing her and Sherlock, turning to each other and whispering), and even Mycroft has managed to slip away from running (Sherlock even refrains from saying “ruining”) the country for an hour. Other people wander in and out: friends of friends, colleagues, associates, even a few former clients. 

Molly slips away into the hallway for a moment to catch her breath, smiling to herself, and more content with the world than she has been for a while. Her hand is constantly finding its way to the deep green drop at her throat, one finger lightly touching as if to assure herself that it’s still there. She closes her eyes, remembering the look in Sherlock’s eyes as he gazed at their reflections in the mirror…

“Molly.” She starts a bit at Sherlock’s voice, opens her eyes and finds him standing in front of her in his coat, holding hers across his arm. 

“It’s snowing. Let’s go for a walk.” 

“But...we can’t just leave in the middle of the party…” she protests, even as she’s slipping her arms into her coat.

“We won’t be long. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Molly quickly glances at his face, but he is smiling so she lets it go, and he takes her hand and leads her to the stairs. 

_Go away, little ugly voice, I’m not listening to you..._

Outside, London is transformed. The snow has been falling off and on through the day, huge wet flakes that stick quickly, covering the streets just enough to panic drivers (who seem to panic at the first snowflake, regardless of how many end up falling), leaving a thin white blanket over the walks and buildings that still seems to create a slight hush to the city. Sherlock takes Molly’s arm and steers her down the walk. 

“Where are we going?”

Sherlock doesn’t answer, just smiles at her mysteriously and urges her along, as Molly does her best to hush the squiggle of doubt that jabs at her heart.

A few minutes later he pulls open the door of Angelo’s and ushers her in. 

Angelo’s is packed. The tables are all filled, there are people standing around the floor holding drinks, laughing and chatting. Christmas music plays softly in the background, barely audible over the tide of voices. The restaurant sparkles with fairy lights everywhere. 

“What...what’s going on?” Molly has to raise her voice to be heard. Suddenly Angelo himself appears in front of them, smiling broadly and shaking Sherlock’s hand, offering a kiss to Molly’s cheek and a loud “Happy Christmas!” He then motions to the back of the room with his head, and leads them to a table in a little alcove near a window looking out on a side street. It’s less noisy there. The table has been reserved and a candle - actually set in a pretty silver candlestick instead of a tin - casts a soft glow. Angelo grins and nods at Sherlock and then vanishes into the crowd. 

Sherlock takes Molly’s coat and lays it across the back of a chair, then removes his own. He holds Molly’s chair for her, then takes his seat across from her, moves the candlestick aside and leans across the table. 

“This is a tradition Angelo started some years ago. He opens the restaurant and keeps it open until very late on Christmas Eve. Some of the people here -” he nods at the crowd “- have been specifically invited. Others just wander in and out. A bit like an open house. He says it’s his way of saying thank you for his customers’ patronage.” Sherlock leans forward more and lowers his voice a bit. “Personally I think it’s just an excuse to show off the restaurant and have a big party, although he’ll do it again at New Year’s Eve.” He smirks and sits back.

Molly smiles and eyes the crowd. People are dressed in everything from jeans and jumpers to tuxes and gowns. Everyone seems to have a drink. Waiters wend their way through the throng with trays of food and glasses and bottles, somehow managing not to drop anything. It’s raucous and cheerful and Molly can’t help but catch a little of the mood. 

“So you were invited to this party?” she asks, sitting back as a waiter deftly fills a glass with what looks like champagne and sets it in front of her. 

Sherlock smiles back at her. “Not exactly,” he says, and something flits across his face - something not quite in tune with the festivities.

Molly sees the expression and her breath catches in a little hiccup of apprehension.

Something’s wrong, she thinks, and her mind is off and racing. It never takes much to set her off. Even after all the months of reassurances, of “I love you” and “You’re more important to me than anything in this world”, of touches and embraces and nights of passion, the slightest expression of concern, the least little frown can send her careening down a mountain of uncertainty, tumbling over every rock they’ve ever stumbled over during the time she’s known him. She’s never said anything; she’s too afraid to find out she’s right, that this is all a joke or a game or an experiment and she’s right back where she started. No matter what she says to herself, no matter how hard she tries to keep the misgivings in check, they spring to the surface over the silliest things, and that ugly voice of doubt wins. 

While Molly wrestles with her concerns, Sherlock leans over the table again and clears his throat. 

_Is this it then? The part where he tells me it was all a game? Did he bring me here to keep me from making a scene when he tells me it’s over? Was the necklace just a goodbye-it’s-been-fun-but-now-it’s-finished gift?_

She’s so caught up in her fear and misery she doesn’t hear what he’s saying at first. 

“--and I know things weren’t easy in the beginning, for either of us...but - “

Molly takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, trying to focus, as Sherlock leans back and slips his hand into his jacket pocket. She takes another shaky breath and opens her mouth to speak and suddenly Sherlock pulls his hand from his pocket and reaches across the table to deposit a small object in front of her.

Molly glances at the object and then back at Sherlock, who is now looking across the room at something and frowning. She follows his gaze and sees Angelo, who is staring at Sherlock and frantically waving his arms. Angelo points to his knees and then clutches his heart while turning his face upward, as though he is swooning or having a coronary. When Angelo sees that Molly is looking, he quickly turns away and pushes through the door to the kitchen, only to turn and peek back through the door at them two seconds later. Molly looks back at Sherlock as he sighs deeply and rolls his eyes. Sherlock then leans forward and snatches back the object he’s just laid in front of Molly, and stands abruptly. The chair makes a loud scraping noise and falls over as he pushes it back, and suddenly all eyes in the restaurant are on them - and there is total silence except for the Christmas carol playing softly in the background.

Molly frowns and opens her mouth. It takes her several tries and in the end she only sits there with her mouth open. 

Sherlock walks around the table and stands in front of her, looking down at her with what can only be described as a mixture of devious glee and profound terror. Molly’s heart is trying to pound its way out of her chest. 

Sherlock drops to one knee and holds out his hand to her. Molly stares at him in confusion. Then she looks down at his hand. That doesn’t help. She can’t quite take in what it is she’s seeing. 

“Molly...My dearest, sweet Molly…” he begins, and suddenly stops when two fat tears roll down Molly’s cheeks. Lying in Sherlock’s open hand is a little blue velvet covered box. It’s open, and inside it sits a ring.

A gorgeous ring. A ring with diamonds. 

An engagement type ring. 

Sherlock clears his throat again, takes a breath. “MollyHooperwillyoupleasemarryme?” comes out in a rush, as he exhales. 

Molly glances from the ring to Sherlock’s face, then back to the ring. Then again to Sherlock’s face, then to the ring. Again. And again. And again. 

“A simple yes or no will do.” 

Sherlock is staring at her, waiting, and oh! His face! 

It’s the face of the Sherlock who stood in front of her that terrible night, hurt and exhausted and raw, laying out the story behind the awful phone call, leaving nothing out, not sparing himself a whit; this is the Sherlock that made her ache for him in her very soul, who bared himself completely, finally, and convinced her that he did truly love her, that he cared more than she ever dared to dream. His heart is shining in his eyes, _willing_ her to believe him, desperate to show her the truth. 

The hand holding the little blue box is trembling.

Molly stares at him for a long moment, looking intently into his eyes, searching. 

_I see you. Here, now, the man inside, that I always knew was there, that I trusted despite everything even when I didn’t know why, the man I always wanted to love me back. I see you now, plain as day._

All the doubts, turmoil, and that tiny, ugly, niggling voice vanish. Suddenly she is sure.

“Yes,” she says softly.

The entire room erupts into cheers and applause. Molly and Sherlock both blink, and then Sherlock quickly pulls the ring from its nest in the box and grabbing Molly’s hand, slips it on her finger. Molly is frozen for an instant, but then Angelo is there, hugging Sherlock and saying congratulations, tears streaming down his face. He looms over Molly and pulls her to her feet, crushing her in a truly frightening (but warm, very warm) embrace. Molly has a faint, confused smile on her face and Sherlock looks stunned. There is more champagne and more shouting and laughing and congratulations, and then miraculously, Sherlock is helping her on with her coat and they’re pushing their way through well-wishers and out into the snowy night, with Angelo blotting his happy tears with a napkin as he waves goodbye and blows them a kiss. 

On the walk, they stand and stare silently at each other for a long minute. 

And then they laugh. Oh, how they laugh! They hold each other and lean against the wall and laugh like lunatics, all the tension and confusion and doubts puffing away like smoke, like their breath in the chill night, like the wisps of nothing that they are. They hold each other while snowflakes dot their hair and lashes and their warm lips meet in the cold air.

*****

There are questions, of course, when they make it back to the party at 221B. Where have they been, why did they leave? They missed this and that, they should have seen...Most of the guests have gone, leaving only John, Mrs. Hudson, and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes and Greg Lestrade. Rosie is asleep in John’s old room. The questions and comments are ignored until they’ve taken off their coats, and Sherlock suddenly takes Molly’s hand and holds it up for everyone to see the new sparkle adorning her finger. 

This surprise is greeted with stunned silence. 

Sherlock glances at Molly, clears his throat. 

“Molly has agreed to marry me,” he announces. 

There is still no reaction. Everyone stares as if he’s just announced that Molly has brown eyes.

It’s Sherlock’s father who finally breaks through the shock. He walks forward and puts his arms first around Sherlock, whispering something in Sherlock’s ear that makes him chuckle, then pulls Molly into a sweet hug, murmuring “Congratulations and welcome to the family.” 

Everyone moves then, swarming around the couple, hugging and smiling and congratulating, as though Sherlock getting married is just the same as anyone else - regardless of what they’re actually thinking.

*****

“You don’t believe in marriage.”

“I don’t believe in the usual kind of marriage.” 

“Okay, so...ours is going to be different?”

“Of course it will. It’s us.”

“Explain.”

“We’re not like other people.” 

“This is true. But...why get married at all?”

“Well, there are legal reasons, of course…”

“Can’t you just do that through an attorney with a legal will?”

“Molly...this isn’t just marriage. This is a declaration. This is my announcement to the world that you are mine, that we’re together. I want everyone to know, I want to shout it from rooftops and scream it at strangers on the street, but that’s not really practical and I don’t want to get arrested.”

“You could put an advert in the papers.”

“I’m serious. But apart from being my declaration to the world...You and I are partners, in the truest sense of the word. We didn’t just fall in love and decide to get married because that’s what people do. We’ve been through hell, separately and together. That day when it all came clear to me, when I realised that I would do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant I had to hurt you and lose you forever...Molly, I thought I’d lost you. I thought even our friendship might be gone. That was worse than anything else I went through that day.” He stops, sighs. “What I’m saying...if there are any two people in the world who should be married, truly joined together as partners, real partners in every way...it’s us. We are the epitome of what married is supposed to mean.”

Tears threaten again, and Molly stands in front of him, unable to speak. She places her hand on his chest over his heart, swallows thickly, looks up at him, filled with so much she doesn’t think she can contain it another second. So she simply nods, and leans against him, slipping her arms around him and holding him tightly. 

Sherlock rests his chin on the top of her head while he holds her, his brain already beginning to race with plans for the wedding, for the future - their future, the two of them together, always.

 


End file.
